


one way or another

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Mystery, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with flowers.</p><p>“Oh, someone left those for you,” Ser Morris said distractedly from his spot at the requisition table. Lace Harding looked at the bouquet, small petals slightly wilted in the cold mountain air, and picked them up with one hand.</p><p>She narrowed her eyes and looked back at Morris. “Who left them?”</p><p>Morris shrugged without looking up from his notes. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. The Inquisitor just brought back supplies for the new tents and we need to get them into the field as soon as possible.” He continued muttering to himself but Lace tuned him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one way or another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meelah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meelah/gifts).



It started with flowers.  
  
“Oh, someone left those for you,” Ser Morris said distractedly from his spot at the requisition table. Lace Harding looked at the bouquet, small petals slightly wilted in the cold mountain air, and picked them up with one hand.   
  
She narrowed her eyes and looked back at Morris. “Who left them?”  
  
Morris shrugged without looking up from his notes. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. The Inquisitor just brought back supplies for the new tents and we need to get them into the field as soon as possible.” He continued muttering to himself but Lace tuned him out.   
  
Lace glared at his back, cursing his inattention, for only a moment before looking back down at the flowers. She touched the pastel blooms with one finger. They looked local, not ones from the garden but wildflowers that grew outside Skyhold where the snow was thinner. Hardy and small, not delicate or beautiful.   
  
She carried them outside and glanced around the Keep courtyard, eyes drifting along all the new faces. Their little operation was growing every day and there were more new faces than Lace cared to admit. The new merchants, all the new Inquisition irregulars, the Bull’s Chargers, the Inquisitor’s new inner circle… so many possible suspects.  
  
Lace displayed the flowers in her arms and walked across the courtyard, watching for suspicious faces. Bonny Lem waved at her enthusiastically from where she set up her wares with the other merchants. Minaeve the researcher caught her eyes with a smile before looking back at the ground and hurrying up the stairs into the castle. Adan glared and stormed off, but he always seemed to be irritated by something these days so she didn’t take it personally. The Iron Bull and his Lieutenant Aclassi sparred in the yard, neither paying much attention to her, although Aclassi was losing ground quickly to his Chief, and a couple other mercenaries stood around the fence cheering or teasing.   
  
She made her way to the room she kept above the garden and put the flowers in a little bit of water. This would require some finesse, to solve a good old-fashioned mystery. She always did like a challenge.  
  
—   
  
Lace needed to leave the next morning to scout the Fallow Mire before the Inquisitor headed out, but she could afford to go to the tavern for a drink or two. It would be reconnaissance for mission: secret admirer.   
  
She kept her eyes open for any clues she could find. Based on her investigation that day and for the last hour in the Herald’s Rest, she had a list of suspects:  
  
Minaeve, the Researcher: blushed when Lace waved at her, kept looking at Lace out of the corner of her eye in the tavern, giggled adorably when Lace told a joke.  
  
Dagna, the Arcanist: overly interested in learning about Lace’s family, asked a lot of questions about resources native to the area around Skyhold including flowers, Sera dragged her away with a glare for Harding, possibly jealous.   
  
Isabela, the Duelist: flirted with Lace outrageously and bought her a drink at the bar, touched Lace’s arm when they were chatting, used her smouldering sexy eyes and smirked knowingly when Lace stuttered.  
  
Skinner, the Orlesian elven Charger: did not glare at Lace as hard as she glared at everyone else, held a mostly-civil conversation about arrows versus daggers without threatening her, included Lace when buying a round for the Chargers.  
  
Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant of the Chargers: also bought Lace a drink with the Chargers, blushed whenever he talked to Lace, dropped a drink on the table when she started asking questions about him.  
  
Zither, the musician: made very suggestive comments to Lace, bought her a strong drink that she turned down, would not stop talking about his musical accomplishments in Orlais.   
  
Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition: gave her a bouquet of flowers once before, the sweetest and most considerate human Lace had ever met.   
  
She reviewed her list of possible admirers and scratched some of them off. Zither was too self-obsessed to send anyone else gifts, Josephine was too busy, Isabela was too straightforward and already propositioned Lace for one night, not a whole romance.   
  
So that narrowed it to Minaeve, Dagna, Skinner and Cremisius. Lace considered as she packed her bags that evening, and decided it would need to wait until she came back to Skyhold in a few weeks.   
  
—  
  
When she arrived back from the Fallow Mire, which wasn’t the worst place she’d ever been sent but was certainly in the top five, another gift awaited her.  
  
A quiver wrapped in a bright red bow sat on the desk in her tiny room. No note accompanied the gift, which raised her suspicion. The quiver was plain leather, oiled and sturdy, with no ornamentation save a rune on the bottom that she didn’t recognize. Inside the quiver were a dozen arrows, and Lace gasped as she pulled one out to examine it.   
  
They were absolutely gorgeous, with silverite arrowheads, dark shafts, and dyed phoenix feathers at the end. Short silver ribbons were tied above the feathers, so thin and smooth they were almost like gossamer, ethereal and weightless. Each arrowhead had its own tiny inscribed flame rune and a fine poisoned powder covered them.  
  
Lace’s mouth fell open. This was one of the best gifts she had ever received in her life. Lace ran her hands along the arrows and the quiver, wondering who could have been considerate enough for this. The rune must have come from Dagna, so she reverently placed the arrows back in the quiver before slinging it across her back and made her way to the undercroft.  
  
Dagna stood beside her machinery, humming to herself and wearing metal armor and protective headgear. Lace called her name three times before Dagna seemed to notice Lace was there.   
  
She shifted the headpiece up so Lace could see her face, and she smiled bright and wide. “Scout Harding! Hi! What are you doing here?”  
  
Lace held up the quiver and Dagna’s eyes widened as she saw it. “I found this in my room. Did you make these?”  
  
Dagna set down the equipment in her hands and took off her gloves. “Yes I did! Can I?” Lace held her arms outstretched and Dagna picked up the quiver reverently. “The quiver has a protection rune, giving you a defense bonus and gives your arrows truer aim for a minute after you pull them out. Also, it’s super shiny, and shiny things are so pretty!” She removed one arrow and fondled it gently. “These runes increase the fire output, adding to any fire damage from your bow and also, they explode on impact. I wish I could be there to see them when they do their thing. Pow!”  
  
Dagna giggled and Lace couldn’t help but grin along with her. “So, did you make these for me? Or did you make them for someone else?”  
  
Dagna froze, her smile turning uncomfortable. She pushed the quiver back into Lace’s arms and started fiddling with her gloves. “Um, for you. They’re for you, you found them in your room, right?”  
  
Lace narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but who asked you to make them?”  
  
Dagna shifted on her feet. “Well, if there wasn’t a note with them, I can’t really tell you either, can I? That’s not… um.”   
  
Lace rolled her eyes. This would go nowhere. “Alright, Dagna. Thank you for the arrows. I will find out who asked for them.”   
  
Dagna smiled again, lighting up her whole face. “I certainly hope so!”   
  
So Dagna was off her list. That left Minaeve, Skinner, and Cremisius. She would get to the bottom of this.   
  
—  
  
The next month, Lace found new gloves in her pack.   
  
Her old gloves, fennec leather almost worn to the point of holes, went missing just after she came back from the Emerald Graves, and in their place were the softest, smoothest, warmest gloves she had ever put on her hands. White and blue leather on the outside, white fur on the inside, thin enough for her to grip her arrows and fire without losing accuracy or speed, and warm enough to handle the Frostback Mountains.   
  
She rubbed her fingers over the smooth fabric and sighed. It was buttery and soft, and fitted her hands perfectly. Like a glove, one might say. Lace knew who to ask about the material.  
  
Lace caught Minaeve leaving the Ambassador’s office in the main hall. Minaeve blushed and cast her eyes to the floor at Lace’s approach.  
  
“Hello, Scout Harding. It is good to see you.”  
  
Lace smiled. The woman was especially cute when she blushed. “You too, Minaeve. Say, do you know anything about these gloves?”  
  
Minaeve took the gloves out of her hand and cooed. “Oh, these are beautiful. True snofleur leather, and— goodness! Fade-touched fennec fur inside? These are a treasure!”   
  
Lace’s eyebrows jumped up. These gloves seemed worth a small fortune. When combined with the arrows, she wondered who could afford such extravagant gifts for her on an Inquisition budget. Minaeve’s surprise and her lack of stuttering and blushing indicated they probably didn’t come from her. “Wow, that’s… impressive. Do you know where someone might have gotten them?”  
  
Minaeve gave the gloves back and folded her hands inside her massive sleeves. “Well, fennec are fairly abundant, but the fade-touched fur is quite rare. Snofleur prefer colder climates, especially in the Emprise du Lion. I believe the Inquisitor is still there clearing out Red Templars, but I think the Chargers returned not too long ago.”  
  
Lace nodded and slid the gloves onto her hands. Flowers, arrows, gloves… all very practical gifts, but perfectly attuned to her.   
  
“Thank you, Minaeve. I appreciate it!” Lace made her way back to her room to think.  
  
—  
  
When Lace entered the tavern that evening, every one of the Chargers turned to look at her before swivelling back around to look at each other. That was different.   
  
Skinner nodded at her before returning her attention to Dalish whispering in her ear. The Iron Bull waved Lace over with a hearty greeting and gestured to the empty seat beside Cremisius.  
  
“Harding! Surprised to see you here and not in the field with the Inquisitor,” the Iron Bull said. Cremisius slid a mug of ale to her, and he looked slightly startled when Lace brushed their fingers together over the glass.    
  
Lace smiled and took a sip, locking eyes with Skinner seated across from her. Skinner raised an eyebrow. “I got back yesterday. Charter needs me to go back to Crestwood for a few weeks, so I’m just passing through.”  
  
“So soon? But you just got back,” Cremisius said looking crestfallen.   
  
Lace shrugged. “The life of a Lieutenant. You would know, wouldn’t you, Lieutenant Aclassi?”   
  
“Oh, that’s not— you don’t have to— you can call me Krem.” The blush rose from his neck to stain his cheeks, and Lace could see the way the Iron Bull smirked from the corner of her eye.   
  
She smiled, and the Iron Bull started into a story about killing the dragon in Crestwood. Lace had heard the story at least twice now, and from the looks on the other Chargers’ faces she would assume they heard it more than that. Despite the old material, the Iron Bull was a good storyteller and the dragon story led into other stories about their mercenary band.   
  
More than once, Lace looked over to find Krem already staring at her. He blushed and his eyes darted away, usually to another Charger who would smirk at him. She started to ask him about their trip to the Emprise, but his mug missed his mouth and spilled ale all down his shirt front. The Iron Bull slapped him on the back and the whole table roared with laughter, while Krem turned beet red and mumbled something. It was quite adorable, how bad he was at flirting.   
  
Skinner didn’t say much, but she kept smouldering eye contact with Lace. Lace couldn’t decide if she and Dalish were together or not, but she could feel feet moving beneath the table and occasionally Dalish’s hand would disappear beneath her.   
  
“So Krem,” the Iron Bull boomed, “tell the one about how you got your maul again.”  
  
Krem rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chief. That’s not—“  
  
Bull clapped him on the back again and continued. “He was carrying around this shitty little sword, dinged up and rusted. Not even a greatsword, just a one-hander butter knife. He was all, ‘This is fine Chief, I’m not going to get gutted as soon as I meet a decently armed enemy, I can handle it.’” Bull snorted and the Chargers laughed, likely remembering this and other moments of Krem being stubborn.   
  
“So wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing snaps right in half. Out of nowhere.”  
  
“Because you snapped it!” Krem shouted over him and he slammed his mug on the table.   
  
“Out. Of. Nowhere. So we go back to the camp, Krem is bitching and moaning and carrying the broken hilt. We get back, a couple hours later and the guy comes to me with a giant rock tied to a stick with some rope, saying ‘Alright Chief, I’m ready, let’s go!’” The whole table roared in laughter, and Krem grumbled into his ale.   
  
Lace patted him on the shoulder and the way he jumped under her hand brought a smile to her face. The table burst into a new gale of laughter and Krem ran to the bar for a new round.  
  
Lace smiled behind her hand and felt a kick in her gut.   
  
—   
  
Lace’s bedroom door opened, letting a small shaft of light into the dark space. She sat motionless on a chair in the corner, waiting. Her secret admirer peeked in, and the dark stillness was enough for them to enter.   
  
The door creaked as it opened just enough to let them slip in, and Lace waited until they made it to her dresser before she lit a match.  
  
Krem jumped and spun around, bumping into the dresser behind him. “What— You! I thought you were leaving for Crestwood.”  
  
Lace smirked and lit the candles beside her. “I know, I wanted to catch you breaking in here.”  
  
Krem’s hand rose to rub the back of his neck and his cheeks stained red. “I, uh. It’s not what it looks like.”  
  
Lace raised an eyebrow and made it halfway across the room before Krem stilled nervously. “It’s not? Because it looks like you’ve been sneaking into my room when I’m gone, leaving me gifts, and then not telling me about it.”  
  
Krem visibly swallowed. “Well. I guess it is what it looks like. I should have known, you’re a really good scout.”  
  
Lace smiled. “What were you going to leave this time?”   
  
Krem looked down at the brown paper package in his hands. “It’s. Uh. It made me think of you. I found it in Val Royeaux last time we were there and, well.” He extended his arm to hand it to her, as if getting any closer would be hazardous to his health.   
  
Lace suppressed the wide grin that threatened to break out, kept her face police and distant. Better to let him sweat for a little bit longer. “Really?” She unwrapped the parcel slowly, untying the silver string (the same as the arrows, she noticed) with delicate movements.   
  
A small silver comb fell into her hand. It gleamed in the low light, shiny and dotted with blue and silver stones. She let out a little awed breath. “Oh, Krem.”  
  
He smiled and rifled his fingers through his short hair. “Do you like it?”   
  
“I do, it’s beautiful. But… what made you think of me?” She twisted it in her hands, examining it from every angle and wondering if she could undo her braids right now to place it in her hair.  
  
“Well, the jewels were really pretty and reminded me of your eyes, so.”   
  
Lace froze. “Wait, what?”  
  
Krem froze like an animal who has caught sight of its predator. “Uh, what?”  
  
“My eyes? My eyes are green. These are blue.”  
  
Krem’s jaw dropped fully open. “I… what? Oh Maker,” he groaned and covered his face in his palms.  
  
Lace giggled and took the two steps forward to put herself in his space. “Krem.” She grabbed his wrists and pulled them away from his face, holding the comb in one hand. He looked entirely miserable, face screwed up in embarrassment, and Lace felt butterflies erupt in her belly. “Krem, it’s okay. It’s a beautiful comb. I want to wear it right now.”  
  
He swallowed and the red started to recede from his face. “You do?”  
  
She nodded. “Yep. I also want to kiss you, but you’re too tall.”  
  
Krem’s mouth opened and closed again. The corner of his mouth crept up as Lace traced circles with her thumbs on the exposed skin of his wrists. He took the comb from her and set it on the dresser behind him. “I’m not too tall, you’re just short.”  
  
Lace snorted. “Come down here and prove it.”   
  
He did. He gently took her face in his hands and bent to press a kiss to her mouth. Krem’s lips slid along her own, warm and soft, and Lace made a little noise in the back of her throat.  Her hands slid around to the back of his neck, while his moved to cup her jaw with a gentle touch. Lace boosted herself up on her tip-toes to press them closer together, and Krem smiled against her mouth.  
  
She came back down, leaving only an inch between their faces, and Krem rested their foreheads together.   
  
“You should have just told me,” she whispered.  
  
He smirked and pecked her lips again. “I knew you’d figure it out, Lieutenant. I thought you liked to solve mysteries.”

**Author's Note:**

> so I realized after writing this that while the story focuses on Lace Harding, it also is about the relationship between her and Krem, which doesn't exactly fall within the rules of the Wintersend Exchange. Still, I think it's a cute story so I'm taking it out of the collection but keeping it up.


End file.
